


Tonight Is on Your Lips

by mmaree



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Royalty, Blow Jobs, Dom/sub Undertones, Fluff and Humor, M/M, Rich Louis, Smut, Soulmates Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson, Strangers to Lovers, Supernatural Elements, Superstition, Waiter Harry, implied top Harry, maybe? - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-18
Updated: 2016-09-18
Packaged: 2018-08-15 20:12:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8071081
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mmaree/pseuds/mmaree
Summary: Louis is the eldest son of the Earl of Doncaster.  It wouldn't be so bad if he didn't have to deal with matchmaking parents, three century year-old curses, and waiters with green eyes.But, unfortunately, he does.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [colazitron](https://archiveofourown.org/users/colazitron/gifts).



> Title taken from "Temporary Fix" by One Direction. I do not own anything and all mistakes are my own. Please enjoy! ;)

Louis pretends to be interested in what the boy beside him is saying, but it isn’t easy.  In fact, it might be the most difficult thing he’s done in ages, sitting here listening to the toff with the neatly-trimmed haircut and run-of the mill tux boast about his stock holdings, real estate properties, and tax shelters.  It’s all endless drivel, as far as Louis is concerned. 

If he didn’t have a steady flow of drinks, he would’ve thrown in the towel ages ago.

Still, he’s trying hard for his mum’s sake.  She had asked him to be polite, said it was important to both her and his father, so he had vowed to be on his best behaviour.  He’d had enough practice lately with all the dog and pony shows they’d made him attend since this summer “holiday” began.  He felt like he was being paraded in front of New York society like some kind of prize pig.  At first his parents at least pretended it was just a coincidence that every eligible bachelor in America happened to be at brunch, or his cousin’s polo match, or the tennis tournament, or the slew of dinner parties he was forced to attend in the Hamptons last month.

But earlier today, his mum had finally admitted their true intentions:  they wanted Louis to find a suitable partner and get engaged before his 25th birthday.  Indeed, every Tomlinson heir (except one) had done so for nearly three centuries.  It was a tradition for the Tomlinsons to settle down early.  Of course, this wasn’t news to Louis.  Three-and-a-half months left before the supposed deadline, Louis had thought he was off the hook.  He wasn’t. 

Louis always thought it curious that such a tradition existed in the family, even laughed at the idea that his ancestors had believed there was some sort of magic or myth that Tomlinson lads were meant to find their “soulmate” before the ripe old age of 25. 

He laughed even harder when his uncle told him of the curse that many Doncaster residents believed still haunted the family.  It all started with the strange, unexplained death of the only heir who didn’t follow the family precedent, Christopher Tomlinson, the _th Earl of Doncaster.  The poor sod was found dead in a ditch at the age of 25, just days after his birthday.  He had gone out fox hunting and never returned--alive anyway.  The inquest held afterwards determined it to be accidental death.  Although the cause of death was never exactly determined, it was presumed he died of injuries after falling from his horse.  But by the time his body was discovered days later, it had been ravaged by the rainy Yorkshire weather and wild animals.  Some said it was supernatural causes, a sort of Hound of the Baskervilles curse. 

And as Louis sits here listening to the drone beside him, he begins to feel slightly envious of Lord Christopher who, despite his misfortunes, didn’t have to attend this dinner party.

Louis had met plenty of bores lately, mind you, but this guy was gold medal-winning material.  Yes, he had promised his mum he wouldn’t curse or drink (too much), but honestly, he hadn’t thought it would be _this_ bad.  He didn’t think he’d be forced to hear an hour-long recitation of the strength of the US Dollar against various world currencies over the past six months.  He would never have agreed to attend if he’d known he was gonna have to endure Grayson Lowell Wilmington III, the son and sole heir of a prominent Boston banking family.

Of course, Louis knew a thing or two about the whole son and sole heir bit.  He was set to inherit a large fortune himself, one his mum’s great-great-great grandfather had scrounged together during the time of the Industrial Revolution.  His daughter had married up, so not only was Louis rich--he was also royal.  His father was the Earl of Doncaster and Louis himself held a lesser title--although he couldn’t be bothered to use it.  Anyway, presumptive heir to the title of Earl of Doncaster was enough of a cross to bear.

And although Louis couldn’t care a toss about royal titles, he did rather fancy his family’s sizable fortune.  Say what you will, but he loved having money.  He enjoyed giving it away as much as he enjoyed spending it, too.  Money was a useful thing, and he wasn’t shy to admit it. 

But one didn’t have to prattle on about it in such a boorish manner.  Not when there were so many other interesting things to discuss like football (the real kind), music, and the really fit waiter who just served him his drink….

_Damn._

_Why hadn’t he noticed this guy before?_

The lad was everything Grayson Lowell Wilmington III and every other arsewipe he’d met recently wasn’t.  Louis didn’t even have to talk to him to know that.  It was the way he moved, glided over the floor like the banquet hall was a stage and he, a principal dancer.  He had flair and a confidence that was, well…fucking _hot_.

And he wasn’t hard on the eyes either.  Dressed all in black like the rest of the waiting staff, he’s got slicked-back hair which seemed to fall across his forehead every time he bent down to serve someone.  Louis couldn’t drag his eyes from the firm bum in those tight trousers. 

The guy swivels around all of a sudden, and now Louis can see his package, perfectly outlined in all its glory.  The tightness of his trousers leaves very little to the imagination, and frankly, that is just fine by Louis.

That’s when he’s caught red-handed--not by Grayson or anyone else at his table, but by the attractive waiter himself.  But the worst of it is that the guy doesn’t do what a waiter should do.  He doesn’t break the awkward meeting of glances and carry on about his business.  No, he stands there, tray of drinks poised on one hand and a smirk plastered upon that gorgeous face of his.  He’s got a jawline that would sink ships and green eyes that would bring those ships back from the depths.

Louis almost forgets where he is when Grayson’s asks him a question.  Now, Louis’ trying to focus, trying to break away from this strange pull the waiter has over him.  He manages somehow, even succeeds in bullshitting an answer to a question he knows nothing about (and could care about even less, to be honest).  He drains his drink and attempts to remember why he’s here.

He can’t.  All he can think of is the waiter whom he definitely isn’t going to ogle again.  He’s not some kid who can’t control his hormones.  He’s a fucking Earl--or will be anyway.  He doesn’t stare at fit boys from across the room, doesn’t want to chat them up and then fuck them senseless when he’s at a dinner his parents planned for him.  He’s supposed to be searching for a lifelong partner not a one-night stand.  It isn’t that he’s never had a one-night stand before, but one has to be careful in his position.  This is too messy, making eyes at this boy here. 

Out of nowhere he feels someone brush against him.  Then a voice like crushed satin asks: 

“Another drink, sir?”

To his surprise, it isn’t an American accent.  He glances up to see the Brit speaking to him, and it’s the waiter he’s been ogling for a while now.  Louis gulps.  “Um…no.  No, I’ve had enough.”

The green-eyed boy bends down, whispering, “That’s what you’ll be saying later, babe.” 

Louis knocks his glass over.  It’s empty, but he’s still embarrassed all the same.  His cheeks feel heated as the fit boy dances offstage--or walks into the kitchen.  Louis isn’t too sure right now.

He doesn’t look at the waiter again for the rest of the evening.  He doesn’t look at any waiter for that matter, just in case he makes a mistake.  A while later, he’s handed the cheque, and he’s confused at first.  He hasn’t much cash on him; his parents were supposed to have taken care of this beforehand.  Regardless, he opens the book to investigate further.

It isn’t a bill though.  It’s a note scribbled on a torn sheet of paper. 

_1410, 22:30 -H. x_

It seems cryptic at first, but he wads it up and stuffs it in his pocket anyway.   A few minutes later, when it’s safe, he re-examines the note.  He’s gotten the meaning now, but he still doesn’t know what he’s going to do.

But he knows what he _wants_ to do.  There’s no question about that at all.

 

*****

 

Louis takes the lift up to the fourteenth floor of the hotel.  It seems to take forever, and his nerves nearly get the best of him.  Eventually, it comes to a halt and the lift doors slide open before he can change his mind.  Then he’s walking, an unknown force propelling him forward.  He knows he should turn around, knows that would be the wise thing to do as he locates the room number he’s been scanning the walls for.  He’s about to listen to this voice of reason when the door opens, and he’s lost in a forest of green again. 

“Knew you’d come,” a husky voice tells him, and he’s tripping over his feet to get inside.  He knows this is risky, that a man in his position should take more caution, but his instincts tells him it’s alright, and Louis isn’t one to ignore his instincts.

“Wh-what’s your name?” Louis sputters out, pulse racing for no apparent reason.

“I thought I told you,” the boy answers.  He’s wearing a white terrycloth bathrobe, and it’s a dramatic contrast from the black attire he was wearing earlier.  Louis can feel himself getting hard, but he doesn’t want to yet, not before he knows what’s going on.

“No, you didn’t,” louis insists.  “I would’ve remembered.  By the way, I’m--”

“I know who you are,” Harry cuts him off.  “Or shall I say…I know who you are, my lord?”

Of course he does.  The reservation was probably in Louis’ name--or his father’s at any rate.  And the kid was a Brit.  Maybe that was why he was so eager to do this.  Maybe it was a setup of some sort.  Maybe this was going to end up in blackmail or even worse--a scandal on the family name.  His mum would never forgive him for that.  Maybe _The Sun_ and _The Daily Mail_ were--

“You shouldn’t think so much,” the younger boy scolds.

Louis has just noticed he looks a couple of years younger than him, but then again, it’s hard to tell.  His eyes look more experienced, look like they’ve seen much more of the world than his cherub, boyish features first project. 

“You’re thinking, again babe,” the boy points out.  “You should stop thinking.”  Louis obeys for some reason.  He doesn’t worry about anything else, just allows himself to live in this moment. 

“Sorry,” Louis falters, shifting his weight from foot to foot.  He feels unsure of himself.  He doesn’t know if he should make the first move.  He’s accustomed to being brash, to being the assertive one, but he’s so out of sorts right now he doesn’t know what to do with himself.

“You can call me H.”

“H.?” Louis echoes.  “What’s it stand for?”

The boy smirks.  “Whatever you want, babe.”

“I want to know what it stands for.  Might be useful later,” Louis adds with a wink, regaining some of his lost confidence.  The guy smiles at that and Louis feels like he’s been cleansed of all his sins.  (And that’s really saying something when he thinks of all the pranks he’s done on headmasters over the years.)

The boy furrows his brow, then nods his head once.  “I’m Harry.” 

“Just Harry?”

The boy steps closer until he’s got Louis up against the door.  “Yeah, just Harry,” he murmurs.  He then slips the robe to the ground in one fell swoop.  Louis’ breath stutters, and he gasps loudly.  He can’t help it; this guy’s so Goddamn beautiful.  His torso and arms are like a canvas.  Louis wants to trace every single one of those tattoos, wants to outline them with the tip of his tongue.

 _And then that dick_ ….

Harry doesn’t give him any more time to take in the view, however, because he’s soon closed the gap between them.  He pushes Louis’ shirt up, and Louis gets the hint, shucking it off quickly.  Harry trails a finger down the older boy’s stomach, sending chills down his spine. 

“What are--”

“Shhh,” Harry whispers, a finger to his rosebud lips.  “Don’t ask any more questions.  You’ll ruin this.”

So Louis doesn’t.  He barely breathes, not wanting to risk whatever is happening here.  He’s usually the one in control, but he isn’t tonight--far from it. 

And oddly, he’s more than okay with that.

Harry’s staring at him in a way that’s making Louis’ heart race faster still.  He’s so close he can feel the heat of the other boy against his bare chest, hear each luscious exhale, taste the palpable sexual energy between them.  He’s sure there’s only one end to this closeness.  He closes his eyes and leans his head back to rest on the door, lips facing upward, inviting the taller boy to kiss them, to do whatever the fuck he wants with them.

But then he feels hands tugging at his trousers, and he groans with expectance, with a fiery need he didn’t know he had until now.  He wants this.  _God_ , how he wants this.

Next thing he knows a strong hand is on him, and Louis lets out a low, guttural groan from deep within his chest.  He can feel his dick pulsing, sheathed in the other boy’s hand.  Harry begins pumping his growing erection with one hand, the other palms his balls.  Louis relaxes as the boy works him, letting his mouth go slack and his head loll to the side.

Louis doesn’t think he can take much more pleasure than this, but Harry has different ideas.  Louis’ knees almost give way when Harry’s warm mouth encloses around his needy and swollen head.   Harry takes him in deep, swallowing him down within seconds of getting his mouth on him, and all Louis can think about now is how this is easily the best blow job he’s ever gotten. 

It just keeps getting better as well.  The noises that reach his ear from below are almost vulgar--the slap of Harry’s hand against his skin, Louis’s ragged breaths, Harry’s moans muffled by Louis’ cock.  They’re inciting all types of images, and he’s almost afraid to look down, afraid he’ll shoot his load as soon as he does. 

When Harry stops, however, Louis does open his eyes and glance downwards.  There’s a smirk in Harry’s eyes, and Louis can tell this is what the other boy wants.  He wants Louis to watch him suck him off, and it’s so damn hot.

Almost immediately he starts to feel the build-up, and he’s warning Harry.  The other boy disregards him though, taking him somehow deeper.  With a strangled cry, Louis spills into him and down his throat.  Cum fills that angelic mouth, dribbles down the sides.  The sight before him, this beautiful young boy painted with his cum, is one he’ll be keeping in the memory bank for a rainy day.  Maybe for _every_ rainy day, holy fuck.

And then Harry rises, eyes wild and full of lust as he wipes his cum-covered face with the back of his arm.  Harry leads him to the bed and Louis steps out of his trousers and follows on unsteady legs.

“Can’t wait to wreck you,” Harry murmurs as he pushes Louis onto the bed.

“You already did,” Louis falters as the other boy climbs on top of him.  Harry wantonly attaches his lips to a nipple, suckling and swirling the tip of his tongue around it in a way that makes Louis’ back arch up off the mattress.

“Oh, babe,” Harry chuckles almost wickedly, “that was just a preview.”

 

*****

 

“So what’s your last name, Harry?” Louis asks the boy lying next to him.  Sunlight falls upon his face in a way that makes it seem even more angelic somehow.  “You never told me last night.  Or am I still not allowed to ask questions?”

Harry shifts to his side and gazes out the window with a blank expression.  He seems hesitant to speak but maybe he’s just tired.  “It’s not important,” he mumbles.

“I told you mine.”

“I already knew it,” Harry counters stubbornly.  “The dinner party was reserved in your name.”

“Don’t tell me then,” Louis sulks, sitting up.  “I mean, if you don’t want to.”  His legs slip over the side of the bed and he’s about to stand when an arm pulls him back down. 

“Let’s change the subject.” Green eyes plead with him to lay back down.

“Fine,” Louis agrees, still slightly peeved.  “How long have you been a waiter?”

Harry tenses up.  “You got a problem with that?  With the fact I wait tables or whatever?”

Louis shrugs.  “Not at all, mate.   Besides, there’s sod-all wrong with being a waiter.  Be whatever the fuck you want to be, mate.”

Harry cocks his head to the side and rests his cheek on his palm.  “You’re different than the others,” he muses.  There’s a charming, boyish quality to him now, just when Louis thinks he’s got him all sussed out.

“Why?” Louis teases.  “Have you slept with many members of the peerage?”

“A few,” Harry answers with a glint in his eye.  Louis half wonders if he’s serious.  “But like I said,” Harry continues, “you’re different than the others.”

“So are you,” Louis returns.  Once again, he can’t take his eyes off Harry.  He wonders how anyone could.  Harry’s got that rare quality; he’s like a chimera--ever-changing, ever transforming.  He tries to find something to say, something to make this moment last longer than it should.  “So how’d you end up in New York?”

“I took a gap year here and fell in love with it,” Harry replies, stretching his arms towards the ceiling.  “I enrolled in NYU the next year.  I just started my final year of film school, and it’s been brilliant.  I want to be a director.”  He seems so relaxed now, talking about something he’s passionate about.   “You go to uni?”

“Yeah, Oxford.”

Harry snorts.  “Figures.”

Louis rolls his eyes.  “Anyway, I studied music.  I just finished an internship at a recording studio down in London in the spring.  I’m trying to decide what to do next.  I’d love to have my own label or summat one day.”  He can’t believe he’s just told Harry all that.  He never shares that much to a stranger--or acquaintances even.

“Well that just got a whole lot less predictable.  For a British peer, that’s almost treason, isn’t it?”  Harry edges closer until Louis can feel the heat of the other boy’s breath on his neck. 

“It’s what I wanted.  My parents let me do what I want--well, until I agreed to do this holiday with them.  I didn’t really have an excuse though.  I’m kind of at a crossroads right now, you know?”  He laughs nervously because he can feel the electricity between them.  It’s overpowering. 

Louis clears his throat.  “So did you find what you want here?  In New York, I mean?”  He has to pull away so he can think again, so he can look Harry in the eye.

“I think so.  It took my family a while to realise I wasn’t running away from them.”

“Are you?”

“No,” Harry answers with a calm certainty.  “I’m not running away; I’m running towards something.”

“Towards what?” Louis asks, inching closer.  He can smell the scent of Harry’s cologne, and he swears it’s getting him high.  “Towards the future?”

Harry smiles softly.  “Yeah, I like that.  I’m running towards the future.”

Louis is dying to ask this boy if he can run with him whichever direction he’s going, but it seems like too much for right now.  Yes, they’re lying in bed, tangled up together in a way that feels right, a way that feels like he’s found something he’s been searching for for ages--and maybe he has. 

He reminds himself that it doesn’t mean anything.  It was just a one-night stand.  A fuck without feelings.  He was twisting things so that it meant more.

Then Harry’s phone rings.  With a groan, he grabs it from the nightstand.  He checks the caller ID and excuses himself, shuffling off towards the loo, still completely naked.  Louis finds himself staring at Harry’s ass.  He could get used to waking up to _that_ every day.  Harry closes the door and Louis doesn’t have any time to wonder who he’s talking with because his own mobile is going off.  He sees it’s his mum, and answers it on the second ring.

“Yes, mum?”

“Oh, hullo dear,” she greets him.  Suddenly he remembers that he left the dinner party a tad early, and he hopes he wasn’t found out.  His parents weren’t in attendance last night for once so maybe no one reported his early absence.

_…Or the fact he slept with a stranger in the same hotel._

“Well, how’d it go?” she asks eagerly.  

Louis doesn’t know what to say.  He hates to let her down again, but there really isn’t any way to avoid it.  “It was awful, mum.  Bloody awful,” he admits.

“I’m sorry to hear that, love.  I thought the Wilmington boy in particular would be a proper good match for you.”  She sighs.  “Well, don’t let it get you down.  I’ve got another date--I mean, casual friendly lunch set up for you.”

“Mum, listen,” Louis begins, “I know you mean well but--”

“Louis it’s a simple thing, and it would make me happy.  I promise I won’t ask you to go to another one for a while…at least a week maybe.  After all, time is running out for you to find the one, dear.”

“You mean for _you_ to find the one for me, mum?” he challenges.  She doesn’t catch his sarcasm, thankfully.

“Anyway, I told his mum you’d meet him for lunch tomorrow.  I’ll be there, too.  Just to make sure everything goes smoothly.  I know how much you’ve been complaining about these big to-do’s so I purposely made this small,” she informs him, and Louis wonders if this isn’t a double-edged sword.  Something more intimate might mean he’d have to actually pay attention to the dude.  “That way, you can have plenty of an opportunity to chat.”

“Yeah, okay,” Louis grumbles.  Now he’s sure he would prefer something larger and more formal instead.  There was no hiding behind anything when you were alone on what was basically a blind date.

“I should warn you that he’s a bit of an eccentric.  They have that running in their family, so I’ve heard.  At least they’re not violent though,” she titters, “and we don’t have that in our bloodline, that I know of anyway, so your children should be okay--”

“Mum, I can’t believe your setting me up with a crackpot.”

“I can’t either, Louis, but I’m running out of options here,” she says, exasperation pouring through the speaker.  “But his mum assures me that he’s a lovely boy.  Where are you by the way?”

“I, uh, stayed at the hotel last night.  I wasn’t feeling well,” he fibs.

She clucks her tongue.  “I told you not to drink too much, love.  So, did you want me to give you the details now or…?”

“Nah, just text me the time and place.  I’ll be there.”

“And Louis,” she adds, “even though it’s just lunch, please wear something presentable.  I saw the band t-shirt under your suit jacket the other day, and I’m just happy your father wasn’t there because--”

“Mum, I can decide how I want to dress.  I’m 24.”

“Oh my goodness, don’t remind me, Louis,” she wails.  “We haven’t much time left.  The legend insists that your soulmate will present themselves before your birthday so promise me you’ll give these boys a chance.”

“Mum, you do realise the curse is pure phooey, right?  Nothing’s gonna happen to me.  It’s 2016.”

“That’s what Lord Christopher said.”

Louis highly doubts that Lord Christopher would have argued it was 2016 (more like 1816), but Louis lets it go.  “Yes, mum.  See you at lunch.”

He hangs up just as Harry’s coming out of the bathroom.  “I gotta go,” Harry announces, slipping on his trousers.  He’s not looking at Louis now, and Louis feels a sadness come over him.  He doesn’t want this to end even though he knows it has to. 

A minute later Harry’s standing at the door, last night all but forgotten although an awkwardness still hangs heavy in the air.  “See you around, yeah?”

Louis doesn’t say anything.  It doesn’t matter though.  Harry’s already out the door.

 

*****

 

Louis barely has enough time to stop into the flat his family’s renting and take a quick shower before he’s out the door.  His mum was gone before he even got there, and he wonders if she has plans to arrive early and grill the poor sod beforehand.

He sprints the few blocks to the café.  As he expected, his mum is already there, sitting in a table by the window and chatting with a young man with blonde hair.  He looks nice enough, but he’s not Louis’ type, not by a longshot.  On the other hand, at least this kid doesn’t look like a total prick.  He couldn’t say the same thing about the last several guy his mum’s pushed on him.

He slows down as he enters the café, trying to hide the fact that he’d been rushing to get here.  He didn’t even have to rush as he glances at the time on his phone and sees he’s still a few minutes early.  He greets his mum with a hug and she introduces him to the boy in front of him, Niall Horan, a member of a well-to-do Irish family.

“Nice to meet you, Niall.  Mum, you gonna stay or…?”

“Oh!” she ejects, her face turning bright pink as she covers a girlish giggle.  “You thought Niall was the boy you were meeting.  I’m good friends with Niall’s mum,” she clarifies, glancing over at the blonde boy.  “We did a benefit in London together last year.  We were just chatting while we waited.”

Niall’s seems amused at Louis’ confusion as he flashes what looks like an engagement ring in his direction.  Niall says a few parting words to Louis’ mum, and then says goodbye to the both of them. 

Louis drums his fingers on the table and stares at the cars and bustle of the city directly outside.  He can’t wait to get this thing over with.  He’s relieved when he hears his mum announce, “Oh, that must be him now!”

Trying not to look completely put out, he stands to greet the stranger and is met with the shock of his life:  walking towards the table is none other than the boy he slept with last night. 

Louis blinks his eyes a few times to make sure he’s not imagining things, and he sees Harry is just as astonished as he is.  Louis considers bolting through the door because, really, there couldn’t be a more embarrassing situation than this. 

His mum doesn’t seem to notice their discomfort.  She’s prattling on, making the introductions, telling Harry how thrilled she is that he could make it.  Louis can’t concentrate though; his mind is swimming.  He’s still in disbelief that his mum is setting him up with a waiter, but he doesn’t feel this is the best time to bring that fact up.  In any case, he doesn’t want to say anything to spoil _this_ , another chance to see Harry again.

Harry’s watching him now carefully.  He sticks out a hand and all Louis can think about is how that hand was stroking his dick last night even though that’s literally the last thing he wants to be thinking about with his mum standing right there. 

“The name’s Styles,” the younger boy rasps, grasping his hand firmly, “Harry Styles.”

Louis’ eyes are about to pop out of his head.  Everyone knew the Styles family was one of the richest in the North.  It was old money, too, the kind his parents were obsessed with.  He figures his mum must have been right about eccentricity running in the family when the heir to the Styles fortune charaded around New York as an art student who waited tables on the side.

“Would you fancy having lunch now, Mr. Styles?” Louis asks.  Out of the corner of his eye, he can see his mum slipping away.  She’s grinning from ear to ear.

“Yeah, I think I’d like that,” Harry smiles, sliding a hand through his curls.  “I think I’d like that very much.”

 

*****

 

Harry proposes to him on the day before Christmas Eve which, coincidentally, happens to be the eve of Louis’ 25th birthday.  Harry tells him it’ll bring them good karma, but Louis still insists the legend is rubbish.  However, if it makes everyone happy, Louis is more than willing to comply.

Besides, there’s the odd chance that he might be wrong, that the curse might be real.  After all, he wasn’t expecting to find his soulmate three months before his 25th birthday…but he did.  And that’s one thing Louis doesn’t have any doubts about.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos and comments always appreciated! xx [my tumblr](http://zqua1d.tumblr.com/)


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